Part 1

Transcriber’s Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations in hyphenation and all other spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.

Italics are represented thus _italic_, and bold thus =bold=.

VOL. I NO. 1

THE STORY TELLERS’ MAGAZINE

JUNE

PVBLISHED BY THE STORYTELLERS COMPANY NEW YORK

THE STORYTELLERS’ MAGAZINE

RICHARD T. WYCHE, Editor

CONTENTS PAGE

NIMMY NIMMY NOT. Retold 1 by Emelyn Newcombe Partridge and George Everett Partridge, Ph.D.

THE TAILEYPO 7 by Richard T. Wyche

JOHNNY CAKE. Retold 10 by Frank E. Spaulding and Catherine T. Bryce

THE TWELVE MONTHS. Retold 13 by R. T. Wyche

STORY TELLING AND EDUCATION 19 by George Everett Partridge, Ph.D.

STORY TELLING IN BOSTON 24 by Mary W. Cronan

THE STONE LION. Retold 26 by Emelyn Newcombe Partridge and George Everett Partridge, Ph.D.

THE OYSTER AND ITS CLAIMANTS 29 from La Fontaine’s Æsop’s Fables

THE PSYCHO-THERAPEUTIC VALUE OF STORY TELLING 30 by Frances E. Foote

STORY TELLING FOR MOTHERS 32

THE BEOWULF CLUB OF WEST VIRGINIA UNIVERSITY 34 by John Harrington Cox

HOW TO ORGANIZE A STORY TELLERS’ LEAGUE 35

WHAT THE LEAGUES ARE DOING 36

EDITORIAL 37

THE MOTHER—THE CHILD—THE STORY 39

THE GREAT EPICS—STORY HOUR CYCLE 40

SOME RECENT BOOKS 42

BIBLIOGRAPHY 44

STORY TELLERS’ LEAGUES 51

BUSINESS DEPARTMENT 55

Published Monthly at 27 West 23d St., New York, N. Y.

BY THE STORYTELLERS’ CO.

R. T. WYCHE, _Pres._ E. C. DE VILLAVERDE, _Sec’y_ H. D. NEWSON, _Treas._ Address, 27 West 23d Street, N. Y.

Subscription $1.00 per Year 10 cents the Copy _Copyright 1913, by The Storytellers’ Co._

THE STORYTELLERS’ MAGAZINE

VOL. I ∴ JUNE, 1913 ∴ NO. 1

Nimmy Nimmy Not

An English Fairy-tale

Retold from _English Folk and Fairy Tales_—Camelot Series

This story is built upon the lines of a perfect dramatic unit, as set forth by Freytag in his “Technik des Dramas”—(1) _Exposition._ Facts preceding the principal interest, i. e. the girl and her mother, etc. (2) _Ascending Action._ The coming of the king. The task. The development of the plot. (3) _The Climax._ This is the revelation of the name by the king, followed by the _Supreme Moment_ which was the revelation of the proper name to Nimmy Nimmy Not. (4) _Descending Action._ The disposal of the villain through his “shrivelling up” and “flying away.” (5) _Conclusion._ “Living happy ever after.”

Joseph Jacobs in his “English Fairy Stories” gives us the following information in regard to the story: “Unearthed by Mr. E. Clodd, from the Suffolk Notes and Queries of the _Ipswitch Journal_, and re-printed by him in _Folk-Lore Journal_ vii. 138-43. It has its parallels in Devonshire’s as “Duffy and the Devil,” in Hunt’s _Romances and Drolls of the West of England_, 239-47; in Scotland two variants are given by Chambers, “In _Popular Rhymes of Scotland_.” It is clearly the same as Grimm’s “Rumpelstiltskin” (No. 14).

Mr. Clodd sees in the class of name-guessing stories, a “survival” of the superstition that to know a man’s name gives you power over him, for which reason savages object to tell their names. It may be necessary—to explain to the little one, that Tom Tit can only be referred to as “That” because his name is not known until the end.

The version of the story here given is republished by permission from “Story Telling in School and Home,” by Evelyn Newcombe Partridge and George Everett Partridge, Ph. D., New York. Sturgis & Walton Co.

The illustrations for the story are reproduced from “English Fairy Stories,” through the courtesy of the author Joseph Jacobs and the publishers Messrs. G. P. Putnam’s Sons, New York.

Once upon a time there was a woman, and she baked five pies. And when she took them from the oven, she found that they had baked so long the crusts were too hard to eat. So she said to her daughter:

“Put you them there pies on the shelf, and by and by they’ll come again.” She meant, you know, the crust would get soft.

The girl, she took the pies into the pantry, and she put them upon the shelf in a long even row. She looked at them, and she thought how good they would taste.

“Well, if them there pies’ll come again,” she said to herself, “I may as well eat them now.”

So she _ate them all, first and last_!

Come supper time, the woman said:

“Go you and get one of them there pies, I dare say they’ve come again by this time.”

The daughter she went into the pantry, and she looked at the shelf. There were the five pie plates _just as she had left them,—empty_! So she went back to her mother and she said:

“Noo, they ain’t come again.”

“Not one of them?” said the mother.

“Noo, not one of them,” says she.

“Well, come again or not come again, I’ll have one for my supper.” And the old woman went toward the pantry.

“But you can’t have one, if they ain’t come again, mother.”

“But I can,” the woman declared. “I’ll have the best one for my supper.”

“Best or worst,” the daughter said, “_I’ve ate them all!_ And you can’t have one ’til they’ve come again!”

Well, the woman, she was so astonished she forgot all about supper. She carried her spinning to the doorway, and as she span, she sang a little song about her daughter:

“My daughter has ate five, _five_ pies today, My daughter has ate five, _five_ pies today!”

Now the king was coming down the road, and he heard the woman singing, but he could not hear the words. So he stopped in front of the door and said:

“My good woman, what were you singing?”

Now the old woman did not want anyone to know what a greedy daughter she had; so she sang instead of that,

“My daughter has spun five, _five skeins_ today.”

“Land sakes alive!” said the king, “I never heard tell of anyone’s doing that. Now look you here, my good woman. I _want a wife_, and I’ll marry your daughter. But look you here. For eleven months of the year she shall have all the victuals she wants to eat, and all the clothes she wants to wear, and all the company she likes to keep. _But the twelfth month, she must spin five skeins every day, or off’ll go her head!_”

“All right,” says the woman, for she thought:

“What a grand marriage this will be. And as for them there five skeins, by that time he’ll forget all about them.”

So they were married. And for eleven months the girl had all the victuals she wanted to eat, and she had all the clothes she wanted to get, and she had all the company she liked to keep. But sometimes she felt a little uneasy. _Sometimes_ she thought of that spinning she must do.

The king, he never said one word about the five skeins, so as the eleven months had nearly passed, the girl thought that he had forgotten all about it.

But one day, it was the _last day of the eleventh month_! The king came to her, and he took her into a little room she had never seen before. There was nothing in it but a spinning wheel and a little chair and a small bare table.

“Here, my girl,” says he, “here I’ll put you tomorrow. And I’ll lock the door. And here you must stay all day long. At night I’ll come, and if you’ve not spun the five skeins, _off’ll go your head_!” And away he went about his business.

Well, the girl was that frightened! She had always been such a gatless creature that _she didn’t even know how to spin_! She sat down on a stool and she began to cry. _How she did cry!_

However, _all of a sudden_ she heard a knocking, knocking, low down at the door. She got up and she opened the door. _There stood a little black thing_, WITH A LONG BLACK TAIL. And That looked up at her out of the corner of That’s eyes, and That says:

“What are you crying for?”

“What’s that to you?” says she.

“Never you mind, but tell me what you are crying for. Perhaps I can help you,” the little black thing told her.

“Well, it can’t do any harm, if it doesn’t do any good,” she thought. So she told him all about the five pies, and the five skeins and everything.

“This is what I’ll do,” says that little black thing, twirling his BIG BLACK TAIL. “I’ll come to your window every morning and get the flax, and at night I’ll bring it home all spun.”

“What’s your pay?” says she.

_That_ looked at her again out of the corner of _That’s_ eyes. “I’ll give you three guesses every night to guess my name, and if you haven’t guessed it by the last night, _you shall be_ MINE!”

The girl thought that she would be sure to guess it before the month was up, so she said:

“All right.”

“All right,” That says, and _how That did twirl That’s tail_!

Well, the next day, the king took her into the room, and there was the flax, and the day’s supply of victuals.

“Now, my dear,” says he, “if that ain’t spun by night, _off’ll go your head_.” Then he went out and locked the door behind him.

The king had no sooner gone, than a _knock,—knock_ came at the window. There was the little black thing sitting on the window ledge. She gave him the flax and away he flew.

Well, at evening, the knocking came again at the window. The girl opened it, and there stood the little black thing with the flax on his arm, all beautifully spun.

“Here it is,” he said, as he gave it to her. “Now, what’s my name?”

“Is that Bill?” says she.

“Noo, that ain’t,” says he, and he twirled his tail.

“Is that Ned, then?”

“Noo, that ain’t.”

“Well, is that Mark, then?” she asked.

“Noo.” And That twirled That’s tail harder and away That flew.

When the king came in, there were the skeins beautifully spun.

“Well, I see, my dear, that you won’t lose your head tonight.” And he went away and left her locked in the room.

So every day the flax and the food were brought to the girl. And every morning the little black imp would knock at the window and carry away the flax, and every night it would bring back the flax spun. And every night the girl would try the three times to guess the imp’s name, but she could never guess the right one.

At last, the last day had come. And that night when the imp brought back the skeins, he said:

“What, ain’t you guessed my name yet?”

“Is that Nicodemas?” says she.

“Noo, that ain’t,” That says.

“Is that Samuel?”

“Noo, not that neither.” Then That looked at her with That’s eyes _like coals of fire_, and That says:

“Woman, there’s only _tomorrow night_, and THEN YOU’LL BE MINE!” And away That flew.

Well, the girl she felt that bad. However, she heard the king coming along the passage. In he came, and when he saw the five skeins, he said:

“My dear, I don’t see but you’ll have your skeins ready tomorrow night as well, so I reckon I shall not have to kill you, and I’ll have supper in here tonight.”

So they brought the supper in, and the two sat down to the table.

Well, he had eaten but a mouthful, when he began to laugh.

“What are you laughing at?” the girl asked him.

“Well, today when I was out in the forest, I saw the funniest sight.... I was in a strange part where I had never been before. And I saw an old chalk pit.... And I heard the queerest humming and humming coming from the pit. So I got off my hobby and crept over to the pit without making a bit of a sound. And there I saw the strangest looking little black thing with a long, black tail. And That was sitting at a little spinning wheel, and That was spinning so fast that I could scarcely see the wheel. And while That span, That sang,

“Nimmy, nimmy not, My name is Tom Tit Tot.”

“And That kept singing it over again and again.”

When the girl heard this, she was so happy that she could almost have _jumped out of her skin for joy_, but she didn’t say a word.

Next day, that little black thing looked _so maliceful_! And when night came she heard the knock at the window, she opened it, and the little black thing jumped into the room. He was grinning from ear to ear, and O! That’s tail was twirling round so fast!

“What’s my name?” That said, as That gave her the skeins.

“Is that Solomon?” said the girl, pretending to be afraid.

“Noo, that ain’t,” That said, and That came further into the room.

“Well, is that Zebedee?” says she again.

“Noo, that ain’t.” And then That laughed, and twirled That’s tail until you could hardly see That.

“Take time, woman! The next guess AND YOU ARE MINE!” And That stretched out That’s black hands at her.

Well, she moved back a step or two, and she looked at that little black thing, and then she laughed out, and says she, pointing her finger at it,

“Nimmy, nimmy not, Your name is Tom Tit Tot.”

When that black impet heard her, That _shriveled right up_, and away That flew and was never heard of again.

And the girl lived happily ever after, and the king never again asked her to do any more spinning.

The Taileypo

_BY RICHARD T. WYCHE_

The Taileypo story was told to me by the Rev. George Washington Neale, a student friend of mine, years ago, in Chicago University. Mr. Neale said that he had heard the story many times in his childhood, from the lips of the old negro story tellers in Tennessee. This story has its variant in the story of “The Golden Arm,” which was written by Mark Twain, Joseph Jacobs and also in a collection by S. Baring-Gould.

It is a story that loses much in the writing, as it is impossible to give voice modulation in cold print. After hearing Mr. Neale tell it a number of years ago, in Chicago, I took it up and began to tell it, and found many people in the South, who had heard the old negroes tell it.

In January 1905, I was in Atlanta, Ga., and went with Joel Chandler Harris, the author of “Uncle Remus,” to the West End School, where I told a number of Uncle Remus stories to the children. Beginning in the first grade, where Mr. Harris’s little grandson was then a pupil and ending in the higher grades, where I told The Taileypo story. When the story was done, Mr. Harris said it was one of the best negro stories he had heard, but that I did not have all of the story. There was, he said, another piece of the story that should be linked with this to make it complete, and I said to Mr. Harris: “Find the other piece, and write the story complete.”

One year after that Harris published the story in the Metropolitan Magazine, New York, January 1906. Harris gave it a setting and artistic atmosphere, bringing in Brer’ Rabbit and Mister Man. He put it in the mouth of Uncle Remus, and had the old negro, as in his other books, tell the story to the little boy. That was a demonstration to me as to how Harris took many of the negro stories in the raw, and passing them through the magic of his imagination made them into art.

We are frequently puzzled to find humorous stories for the boys and girls,—they must have humor. This story has universally amused them wherever it has been told. In it reverberates the barbaric ages from whence the race came, and it is a spontaneous expression of life from the primitive standpoint. To find a story that the boys and girls think humorous, and to laugh together with them, is decidedly refreshing and healthful to the teacher, who has dwelt so much on grammatical forms which are not fundamental in a child’s interest. As Joseph Jacobs, says, “The children know the happenings in the story are make-believe just as much as the spectators of a tragedy. Every one who has enjoyed the blessing of a romantic imagination has been trained upon such tales of wonder.”

However, if one’s imagination and sense of humor is undeveloped, and the story is taken seriously rather than humorously, it loses its value and should not be told. For that reason the story teller or teacher must study his auditors.

As Uncle Remus would say, I will “’gin it out to you as it was ’gunt to me.”

In the mountains of Tennessee, ’way back in de big woods, lived onct a man, in a house all by his self. This man had one room to his house, and dat room was his kitchen.

One night, when de man was sleepin on his bed, he heerd sup’ner roun de fire place snifflin, lickin de pots, de fryinpans, and de skillets, car’en on and g’wyin on. De man struk a light, and dar he see de curioses lookin varmint what you ever laid eyes on, a varmint wid a great, long tail. No sooner de man see de varmint dan he retched for his hatchet. He made one sweep at him, and clipped his tail squar off behime. De varmint he run out thu de cracks er de logs and tuk to de woods.

De man, fool-lik, took an cooked de tail, et it,—and den he went to bed. ’Way long in de night, suppen cum and got up over de man’s do, and scratched and sed:

“Taileypo, I want’s my ta-a-a-a-a-a-iley-po.”

De man had three dogs: one name Uno, and one Ino, and one Cumticocalico. De man call his dogs, “Yer! Yer! Yer!”

De dogs dey cum bilin out frum under de house. De varmint he run down side de house and jumped. De dogs snapped at him, but he got away, and dey run’ed him and run’ed him ’way back in de big woods. De man he tuk, he did and went back to bed, and went to sleep.

But ’way long in de night, de thing cum and got up in de crac’ er de man’s do and sed:

“Taileypo, you know,—I know,—all I want’s my Ta-a-a-a-a-a-iley-po.”

De man call his dogs, “Yer! Yer! Yer!”

Uno, Ino and Cumticocalico cum abustin roun de cordner of de house. De varmint jumped down from de side of de house and tuk to de woods. De dogs ketch him at de gate,—knock down de gate an tore down de fence. He got away, but dey jus’ natchally tore up de earth runnin him ’way frum dar. De man tuk, he did and went back to bed and went to sleep.

’Way long in de night, jus befo day, de man he heard sup’ner down de hill, sayin:

“Uno, Ino, all I want’s my Ta-a-a-a-a-a-iley-po.”

By and by he heard him in de crack up over de do, sayin:

“Taileypo, I want’s my Ta-a-a-a-a-a-iley-po.”

De man call de dogs, “Yer! Yer! Yer!”

De dogs didn’t cum: de Taileypo dun car’ed em off sumeres in de woods, lost em or kil’t em.

Arter a while—de Taileypo stop. Everything was still. De man drapped back on his pillow, but fo long he feel supen and heard supen scratchin and clawin at de foot of de bed. Supen ketch holt er de kivers, and clawed lak a cat a’climin up. De man rais his haid up and look, and he see two bright eyes, lak balls er fire, lookin right pine blank at him frum de foot er de bed. De varmint crawl up nigher and nigher on de man. He can see his little short ’years by de light er his eyes. De varmint say right easy to de man again:

“Taileypo—I want my te-e-e-e-e-e-eley-po!”

De man try to holler. He opens his mouf, but lak a man in his sleep, he ca’nt mak a soun’. De varmint crawl right up on top er de man and say right easy again: “Taileypo.”

“I want’s my te-e-e-e-e-e-eley-po!”

De man’s voice cum back to him, and he say:

“I aint got your taileypo.”

De varmint says, “Yes, you is.”

He jumped on de man and scratch him all to pieces, and got his taileypo.

All dat’s lef of de man’s house now is de rude heart-stone, and dey say dat when de moon rises roun and red and shines down dat lonely hollow, and de win’ blow, dat you can hear a voice in de win’ day say:

“Tail-a-a-a-a-a-e-eley-po-o-o-o!” and die in de distance.

Once Upon a Time

Every now and then the postman leaves at the office of THE EVENING SUN a message that brims over with pleasure for the recipient. Among such communications we gratefully acknowledge the following, addressed to us by a young friend in the South:

“DURHAM N. C. March 29.

”DEAR EDITOR—I like the Once upon a time stories very much pleas make them a little longer Father reads them to me after Supper. do you tell them to your little boy or girl with love Lucy Glasson Mary likes them to”

Time was, LUCY, when we told some of these stories to our little boy and girl at bedtime, and now, years afterwards, we are glad to think that we can tell them over to thousands of other people’s little boys and girls. If only they will think of us occasionally as LUCY GLASSON does, “with love,” how rich will be our reward. _N.Y. Evening Sun._

* * * * *

North Carolina has recently organized a Folk-Lore Society, which will be a branch of the National Folk-Lore Society.

Johnny Cake

Mr. Joseph Jacobs publishes this story in his Collection of “English Fairy Tales.” He gives as his source “_American Journal of Folk-Lore_,” ii. 60. Another variant of this story is found in “The Gingerbread Boy,” in _St. Nicholas_, May, 1875. Chambers gives two versions of the same story, under the title “The Wee Bunnock,” the first of which is one of the most dramatic and humorous of folk tales. Unfortunately the Scotticisms are so frequent as to render the Droll practically untranslatable. “The Fate of Mr. Jack Sparrow” in _Uncle Remus_ is similar to that of Johnny Cake.

The version herewith is taken from the Aldine Fourth Reader, by Frank E. Spaulding and Catherine T. Bryce, through the courtesy of the publishers, Newson & Company, New York.

Once upon a time there was an old man, and an old woman, and a little boy. One morning the old woman made a Johnny Cake, and put it into the oven to bake.

Then she said to the little boy: “You watch Johnny Cake while your father and I go out to work in the garden. Don’t let it burn.”

The little boy soon got tired watching the oven, and went to look out of the window. All of a sudden he heard a noise back of him. He looked around quickly. The oven door popped open. Out jumped Johnny Cake. Away he went rolling along, end over end, through the open door, down the steps, and out into the road, long before the little boy could catch him.

“Mother! Father! Johnny Cake’s running away!” cried the little boy, and down the street he ran after Johnny Cake.

His father and mother threw down their hoes and gave chase too. But Johnny Cake outran all three a long way, and was soon out of sight. The old man, the old woman, and the little boy, quite out of breath, sat down by the roadside to rest.

On ran Johnny Cake. By and by he came to two well diggers, who looked up from their work and called out, “Where are you going Johnny?”

“I’ve outrun an old man, an old woman, and a little boy, and I can outrun you, too-o-o!”

“You can, can you? We’ll see about that!”

They threw down their spades and ran after him. But Johnny Cake outstripped them also. Seeing they could never catch him, they gave up.

On ran Johnny Cake. By and by he came to a bear.

“Where are you going Johnny?” growled the bear.

“I’ve outrun an old man, an old woman, a little boy, and two well diggers, and I can outrun you, too-o-o!”

“You can, can you?” growled the bear; “we’ll see about that!”